


Really, Really

by Museohmuse



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence, M/M, Police Officer Derek Hale, Werewolves Still Exist, brief mention of regurgitation, brief panic attack, sick!stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-03
Updated: 2014-01-03
Packaged: 2018-01-07 08:18:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1117621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Museohmuse/pseuds/Museohmuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm just calling in a favor," Derek said, feeling cornered. "Whether you want to suffocate in your own snot is up to you, Stiles."</p>
<p>Or the one where Derek has to play babysitter for the Sheriff's sick, legal, and infuriatingly attractive son.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Really, Really

**Author's Note:**

  * For [writerdragonfly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/writerdragonfly/gifts).



> Thanks to Ky who encouraged me throughout writing this!
> 
> And I was in a mood to watch Shrek while writing this, so excuse the love. Or better yet, embrace it. u_u
> 
> This hasn't been beta read, so if you pick up on anything glaringly obvious, let me know!

"Jesus, Dad, I am eighteen years old! I don't need a damn babysitter!" Derek was impressed that he was even able to understand the garbled noises that came out of the Sheriff's son's voice. A vicious snort full of mucus and derision followed the outburst, and Derek saw the Sheriff stifle a chuckle when he turned to grab his coat. 

"Language, Stiles," the Sheriff reprimanded lightly, causing his son - Stiles - to roll his eyes. "You know, it's only from the goodness of my heart" - the Sheriff ignored the hearty huff Stiles gave and carried on - "that you're not in the hospital. Now, Melissa said that you've stabilized from the fever you had yesterday, but you need to be put on a severe case of house arrest." 

"I don't know Dad," Stiles drawled, a significant feat with his congested voice, "I was really considering hitting up the clubs." Stiles' bravado would have stuck if he hadn't tried to hack up a lung seconds after. 

The Sheriff heaved a sigh and turned to Derek. "Now, I know that with your werewolf juju" - Stiles snorted, a disgusting noise that he seemed to regret by the dissatisfied expression on his face - "you won't be susceptible to the sickness Stiles is carrying. With that in mind," the Sheriff continued, glancing at Stiles, who was in the kitchen angrily blowing his nose, "don't let him try and pull one over on you. I'm talking fake symptoms, false reassurances, every trick in the book."

"Dad, how could you think that I would pull stuff like that? I'm not a child!" Stiles cried, wiping his eyes. When Derek raised an eyebrow, Stiles hissed, "I'm freaking _sick_ , Hale!" 

Meanwhile, the Sheriff was throwing Stiles a heavily unimpressed look. "That's Officer Hale to you." Stiles flapped his hand, shooting Derek a flat look. "And just last week you were trying to convince me you had a strand of _Dr Strangelove Syndrome_." Derek couldn't hold in a laugh at the Sheriff's incredulous face, and Stiles' indignant twin. 

"Hey, can you imagine just how difficult it would have been for me to do my school work if my other hand was plotting against me?" Stiles let out a feeble cough, making his case seem that much more pathetic. 

The Sheriff rolled his eyes, making it clear where Stiles inherited that skill from, and addressed Derek again. "I've left instructions on what medicines he needs to take and when, as well as where everything is."

"Wow, Dad, it's not like I could have told him that _myself_ ," Stiles whined, his nasal tone making the pitch almost unbearable to Derek's ears. Truth be told, Derek had never been overly exposed to sick humans; at school, he could pick up on the distinct changes in one's scent when they began feeling under the weather. And at home, when Natalie or Cole - his sister and cousin, respectively - fell ill, his mother would explain to him what she would do to make them feel better. Derek couldn't help but wonder if the ailments his mother used were of a human nature, or passed through the supernatural line. 

"I'd feel better if Derek had information coming from an unbiased source," the Sheriff retorted, gently swinging his belt against Stiles' hide, smiling when Stiles gasped, "Abuse of disabled kin!" 

"And for the record," Stiles said once he recovered, "you are totally not an unbiased source. You're the center of this oppressive tyranny." The Sheriff sent Derek a long suffering look at Stiles' histrionics, but there was an obvious fondness behind it. 

"What about you, Derek? You've been suspiciously quiet," Stiles snapped, leering at Derek as if he were the weakest link. The Sheriff turned to regard Derek as well, a curious look on his face. 

"I'm just calling in a favor," Derek said, feeling cornered. "Whether you want to suffocate in your own snot is up to you, Stiles." Derek thought he won that round, based on Stiles' affronted expression and the Sheriff's pleased look. 

Stiles opened his mouth to no doubt release a barrage reasons for Derek to leave, but the Sheriff cut him off with a sigh. "I would argue with you more if you didn't look dead on your feet and I wasn't going to be late for work." He turned to Derek and clasped his shoulder, smiling slightly. 

"Thanks for doing this for me, Derek. I know it's not the most glamorous job, but I'm glad I have someone I trust watching my son." Derek nodded, his eyes sidling over to Stiles, who was pouting from his seat at the kitchen table. 

"Stiles," the Sheriff said, "take your medicine, and don't terrorize Officer Hale." Stiles huffed, ducking his father's hand when he reached out to ruffle Stiles' growing hair - Derek remembered how he sported a buzz cut for the better part of his life - and failed in his endeavor anyway. "I love you."

"Yeah, yeah," Stiles said sullenly. He paused, resignation written all over his face, before muttering, "Love you, too." 

The Sheriff smiled at his son's admission and walked towards the door. Derek followed him to see if there were any words the Sheriff wanted to exchange without Stiles' being privy to them. The Sheriff noticed his new shadow and turned to smile at him. "Thanks again, Derek. You just let me know if you need anything, son." 

The easy tone the Sheriff had, and the casual, almost thoughtless way he slipped in 'son' made Derek's heart stutter. Derek was thankful the house was inhabited by humans unable to tap into their primal senses and learn Derek's secrets. "Yes sir," Derek said after a long pause. Thankfully the Sheriff said nothing of it and stepped out the door with one final wave. 

Derek closed the door behind him and took a deep breath of the unfamiliar house. It smelled of overwhelming fondness and an emptiness only grief could produce. Stiles must have been camping out downstairs because the spoiled scent of his sickness permeated the air. 

Derek followed the sluggish heart beat of the Sheriff's son to the living room, where he had created something akin to a nest of blankets, tissues, and general despair. When Derek walked into the room, Stiles was sitting on the chair facing the entrance of the room, wearing the most sullen glare he'd ever seen on someone above the age of six. 

"This isn't going to turn into a stupid 'Home Alone' situation, is it?" Derek heard himself ask. At Stiles' baffled expression, Derek continued, "You know, you start pulling hijinks to get me out of the house?" 

Stiles huffed, dragging himself - and the blanket he had swaddled himself in - to his nest, and replied, "As flattered as I am to be compared to a clever and adorable fictional character, I can assure you that no hijinks of such a persuasion will befall upon you." 

"How are you even able to talk?" Derek asked, taking in Stiles' flushed face, sweaty palms, runny nose, and labored breathing - he was the poster child for a sick patient. 

Stiles laughed, a painful, staccato burst. "It's the only way to stop myself from going stark raving mad." The blandness of his tone betrayed just how awful Stiles had to have been feeling.

Derek had never been much of a caretaker; Laura was always put in charge, being the eldest. Even when Derek was put in charge, his precocious siblings always had a way of undermining him. While Derek did watch his mother attend to Natalie when she was sick, he never absorbed the information, deeming it unnecessary since he thought he'd never be in the company of sick humans too often. The falseness of that statement was staring at him balefully, sniffing like clockwork every three seconds. 

"Why don't you . . . get comfortable?" Derek's voice sounded incredibly awkward, but there was really no avoiding it. Laura was relentless in her efforts to pull Derek out of his shell, but to no avail. The fire certainly didn't help matters - now that Laura wasn't around to force him to go to this function or talk to that person, Derek didn't have to try. Even working at the station didn't improve his social graces, so it was a constant surprise to him how he managed to keep his job. 

But nothing really put Derek's awkwardness into perspective than being forced in the company of an ill, talkative teenager. 

"I don't know how much experience you've had with sickness, but being comfortable is an impossible task," Stiles said once he had stopped looking at Derek strangely. 

"Have you eaten yet?" Derek asked, sitting in the couch that smelled the least like Stiles attempted to infect it. Derek would probably have to warn the Sheriff about Stiles' infestation of the house. 

Stiles pulled a face, shaking his head definitively. "The food never stays in, it's not worth it."

"Oh?" Derek said. "Does your father agree with that?"

Stiles squinted at Derek, immediately wary. "Don't play the "daddy knows best" card on me. That only feeds his superiority." 

"Stiles," Derek said sternly, not wanting to encourage Stiles' banter, "you need something in your stomach. Would you rather throw up stomach acid?" Stiles looked disgusted, as Derek hoped he would. 

Derek made his way to the kitchen to look at what the Sheriff recommended for Stiles to eat - he was guessing soup. Derek was surprised to hear Stiles follow him, stumbling over his pile of blankets to get to the kitchen. 

"So, why do you owe my dad a favor? Did he clip your claws for you? Or did he brush those hard to reach places on your fur?" 

Derek huffed, pulling out the can of soup the Sheriff had recommended. "Yes, I'm a werewolf, Stiles. Do you need a moment to get your inane questions out of your system?"

Stiles huffed, wiping his nose on his sleeve. "Don't act so high and mighty - Scott's your little mentee, isn't he?" Derek stiffened. Scott was a recruit for the newly expanding Hale pack. He was recently bitten by Derek's deranged uncle, Peter, who was put down by the Feds for reckless behavior and biting without consent. While Scott resented Derek's company simply because he resented everything werewolf related, Derek tried his hardest to teach Scott everything he knew - because if trouble ever came up in Beacon Hills, Scott was the only person Derek could count on. 

"What about Scott?" Derek asked, fingers gripping the pan handle tight enough that he heard it creaked, forcing him to release his grip. He knew not to turn it on Stiles, but the urge was great. 

"Calm down, dude. He's my, like, best friend. We grew up together, and we got through him being bitten together. I was the one who told him to go to you in the first place, so you're welcome." Derek blinked, taking this new information in. When he thought about it, he remembered Scott mentioning someone with a bizarre name that Derek never retained; he actually thought Scott was making him up, mostly because Scott always referred to him in the context of video games and crazy adventures. 

"Are you saying Scott never talked about me?" Stiles asked, feigning nonchalance but his heartbeat picked up with anxiety. 

Derek huffed, shaking his head. "He was always talking about you, Stiles." Stiles' face lit up in a pleasantly smug expression that suite him well. But that wasn't important, and definitely creepy, and a little gross at Stiles' current state. "If you think I'm going to thank you, you're wrong," Derek continued, turning the stove off to pour the soup into a bowl already set out on the counter. 

"You don't have to - I can see it in your eyes," Stiles replied easily. 

"Oh, really?" Derek asked, turning to look at Stiles and let his eyes bleed red. To Derek's surprise, Stiles didn't flinch back like any other human - instead he cooed and cast a patronizing look at Derek.

"Lookit you, little Alpha wolf-boy," Stiles said. Derek's responding expression made Stiles laugh hard enough for it to turn into a wheezing cough. 

"Okay, retreat back to your nest," Derek growled, ushering Stiles into the living room with the bowl of steaming soup. 

"Does that make me Hawkeye?" Stiles joked. Derek balked, hearing 'hot guy' and his immediate - and thankfully internal - reaction was 'yes.' Despite the obvious changes in his body due to the sickness, Stiles was undeniably attractive. Derek could see bulk in the lithe form Stiles had - his broad shoulders and strong arms hinted at a body's transition from a boy into a man. His bright eyes and full lips were constantly teasing Derek with their playful, but deadly, grace. Moles dotted Stiles' skin sporadically, creating constellations Derek wouldn't mind gazing at for hours. 

But he couldn't. Stiles was the Sheriff's son, and barely eighteen from what he heard. There was no point of acting on senseless attraction. 

"Okay, dude, I get it," Stiles grumbled from his seat. "You don't like the superhero jokes." Derek blinked, realizing with a shock of embarrassment that he had just been staring emptily at Stiles while holding his soup. 

"Your soup is getting cold," Derek muttered, thrusting the bowl at Stiles. Stiles barely latched onto it, his face turning into a grimace. "And my name isn't 'dude.'"

Stiles looked up from the soup and said, "Alright, _Officer Hale_." 

The title sounded damning off Stiles' lips, making Derek immediately regret his comment. "Derek," he eventually huffed. "Derek's fine."

"Geez, okay, Derek," Stiles said. Derek's name was for perfectly in Stiles' mouth, making Derek wonder if there was anything that Stiles could call him without it going straight to his dick. It worried Derek that he was this attracted to a young, dreadfully incapacitated boy, even when he was eyeing his soup with a severely unattractive frown. 

"I don't care if you're not hungry. Just eat it, or I'll shove it down your throat." 

"That's what he said," Stiles muttered petulantly, wading his spoon in the soup. Derek noticed that Stiles' flush, along with his heartbeat, intensified for a brief second, but he wrote it off as a reaction to the heat of the soup. 

"Hey, you made it the way I like it!" Stiles said, grinning at Derek. Derek felt a smile pull at his lips before he tamped it down. 

"Your dad wrote it on the instructions he left me."

"Oh." For some reason, Stiles' smile dampened. "I mean, yeah, of course. You didn't even know me before this, how could you have known how I liked my soup? That's just dumb." 

An awkward silence laid out between Derek and Stiles, filled only by Stiles slurping his soup. And seeing Stiles' lips form around the spoon and pull at soup - Derek shook his head to clear his thoughts. 

"Do you" -

"Let's just" - 

Derek shut his mouth and waited for Stiles to continue. Stiles said nothing, looking at Derek expectantly. They stared at each other for several painful moments, finally broken when Stiles chuckled drily, shaking his head. 

"You are by far the worst babysitter I've ever had," Stiles said, glancing at Derek from under his eyelashes. Derek froze, unsure how to take the juxtaposition of his statement with that look; but he didn't have much time to contemplate it before Stiles proceeded to go through ten tissues expelling his snot. 

"Aren't you so glad you missed out on this?" Stiles grumbled. "With your super special werewolf powers, no cold will ever see the light of day in your sturdy body." 

Derek had no response to that, so he just rolled his eyes and said, "Just finish your soup." 

"Hey, rudest babysitter alive, wasn't I supposed to take, like, eight pills thirty minutes ago?" Stiles asked cheekily, somehow managing to speak around his soup. 

"I crushed them up and put them in your soup." Derek couldn't help the pride that came through his voice - he knew Stiles would throw all kinds of fits just for the hell of it, so he figured he'd kill two birds with one stone. It worked in his favor, it seemed, since half the soup was gone. 

"Well well, aren't you just a little resourceful nurse?" Stiles mused. "You're making your way up from the ruins of your previous examples of babysitting." Derek frowned. He didn't do this to prove anything to Stiles. But, in some way, he did. And that was not okay - his babysitting (a word that made him cringe every time Stiles said it) shouldn't be about appeasing a high maintenance brat. 

"If you want a nurse, I could always call Mrs. McCall," Derek replied. 

Stiles rolled his eyes, spooning the soup. "No need to call reinforcements, I'm eating the damn soup." 

A couple of moments passed as Stiles finished his soup and medicine, ending with Stiles pointedly slamming the empty bowl on the coffee table. "There. Are you pleased, Alpha?" 

Derek's eyes flashed at the title, and grinned to show off his slightly elongated teeth. "Happy as I'll ever be." Derek noticed that Stiles' breath quickened along with his heart beat, but there was no real fear detected. Either way, Derek reverted the minute shift, not wanting to encourage a panic attack, something the Sheriff made Derek be wary of. 

"Hey, you never did answer my question," Stiles said, bundling himself in his blankets. Derek arched his eyebrow, a little lost at the non sequitur. Stiles huffed and expanded, "You never told me what favor you're returning for my dad." 

Derek shrugged, not wanting to make a big deal out of it. "He just changed a shift for me, that's all." 

"What duty would make a big bad Alpha weak at the knees?" Stiles mused, adopting an exaggerated thinking pose. 

Through gritted teeth, Derek replied, "Neighborhood patrol." 

Stiles laughed incredulously. " _What_? Neighborhood control? Are you kidding me?" Stiles laughed some more while Derek frowned and crossed his arms. 

"Sometimes, people just bother me for no reason - and if there is a reason, it's undoubtedly inane," Derek explained. 

"Well, _duh_ , dude!" Stiles cried, throwing his hands in the air. "You're _hot_. People are going to want to bother you for no reason just so they can get their flirt on." 

Derek raised an eyebrow at Stiles' admission, but Stiles refused to look at him, his skin tinged with more color than it was before. 

"Anyway, I see why you asked Dad to relieve you," Stiles said in a tone that blatantly ended that conversation, which Derek was perfectly fine with. He did not want to further investigate the fact that Stiles found him physically appealing. Not at all. 

"Is TV alright with you?" Stiles asked, fingering the remote. Derek nodded and Stiles turned it on, quickly flipping through channels before landing on - dammit. 

"Really, Stiles?" Derek sighed at Stiles' shit-eating grin. "A procedural cop show while a cop is present?" 

"I don't see a cop uniform on," Stiles said, giving Derek a thorough once ever. "And what a shame that is, too," he added under his breath, clearly forgetting that enhanced werewolf hearing was definitely a thing. 

Stiles made Derek sit through several painful episodes of the show (because there was never just one playing - oh, no, it was back to back to back), gleefully asking, "Is that how it works in the real world?" or "Have you done this before?" or "Wow, we don't do that here. And why the hell not?" 

"How has your dad not revoked your TV privilege?" Derek grunted, pointedly looking away form the unashamed bastardization of his job. 

"This time because I'm sick," Stiles replied primly. "Any other time because I threaten Dad with the food network." Derek couldn't stop the chuckle that came out, and Stiles' smile widened. 

"Okay, I think you've suffered enough," Stiles declared loftily. 

"How magnanimous of you," Derek replied drily.

But then Stiles flipped the channel to Shrek. 

"How old are you again?" Derek basically groaned as the program opened with Donkey's annoying voice. 

"Old enough to still appreciate comedy gold," Stiles retorted, turning his attention back to the TV. Derek glared at Stiles, something he happily ignored, as he sang along with Donkey whenever he broke out in song. Derek had never been more tempted to snap his neck - or kiss him to shut him up. Either one lead down a deadly path, so Derek made do with frowning at the TV and ignoring Stiles' serenading. 

Suddenly, there was a distinct change in the scent of the room. Derek sniffed around, turning to ask Stiles if he was okay - but Stiles was already gone, sprinting out of the room. 

Derek shot up, following him as he slammed a door open - to a bathroom, Derek realized - and threw himself down on the toilet, face first. Gripping the toilet with tight fingers, Stiles released the contents of his stomach, his body convulsing with every heave. 

Derek, unsure of what to do, finally responded to Stiles' weak groans in between each spurt of sick. He knelt beside Stiles, careful to block the smell, and gently stroked his back, taking away pain with every touch. Stiles whined under the touch, arching into it despite being trapped at the toilet. 

The heaves eventually slowed to slow wheezing and trembling, hands clenching and unclenching at the bowl. Derek continued stroking Stiles' back and leeching pain from him, waiting for Stiles to come back. 

Derek immediately noticed when Stiles' breathing picked up dangerously, wheezing uncontrollably - the beginnings of a panic attack, as the Sheriff warned. 

He pulled Stiles away from the toilet, flushing the contents and absently noted that he would have to clean it once he handled Stiles. Stiles looked lost, his eyes darting every which way as his chest rose and collapsed at a worrying pace. His hands shook, clinging to the bottom of his shirt and his chest in random patterns. Derek wiped at the corner of Stiles' mouth, cupping his face when he had finished. 

"Stiles," he murmured. Stiles let out a whimper almost involuntarily, his eyes watering. Derek knew that with Stiles' congestion, it was difficult to breathe on a regular basis. Having a panic attack would, at worst, make Stiles asphyxiated. 

"Stiles," Derek repeated, taking Stiles' hand and placing it against his chest. "Listen, I need you to breathe with me. Feel my breaths, and follow them." He started to take long, deliberate breaths, in and out. Stiles didn't seem to follow, still gasping for nonexistent air, but Derek still carried on, a deep breath in and a long exhale out. 

Slowly, Stiles began to pick up Derek's pace and echoed it. It wasn't long before Stiles' hand lost its death grip on his chest, and on Derek's shirt as well. 

"You okay?" Derek asked, taking in Stiles' slowing heart beat, and the dying flush on his skin. 

Stiles closed his eyes, banging his head against the wall. "Can we pretend that didn't happen?" 

"That depends," Derek said with a light smile. "How are you feeling?" 

"Like overheated shit," Stiles groaned. 

"And you smell like it, too," Derek said mildly, eyeing the toilet and Stiles pointedly. 

"God, get off me!" Stiles cried, shoving at Derek with weak arms. 

Derek relented, hovering over Stiles as he brushed his teeth. Stiles rolled his eyes at him in the mirror, but said nothing of it. Derek was glad to see Stiles had recovered from his panic attack - but he was still very much sick. Stiles eyed the toilet guiltily, but Derek pushed him towards the door, saying, "I'll take care of it. Go to your nest." 

When Derek had finished up in the bathroom, he checked to see if Stiles was in his nest. Stiles was there, lying on the couch with his arm thrown over his eyes. 

"You know what the worst thing about throwing up in front of the hottest guy you know is?" Stiles said, sniffing pathetically. Derek didn't smell any salt, so he knew Stiles wasn't crying. 

"The hot guy is still somehow attracted you?" Derek replied, walking over to sit on the coffee table in front of the couch.

Stiles shot up, wincing at the pull of his weak and empty stomach, but stared at Derek with wide eyes. "You are shitting me," he breathed. 

"It's the runny nose that did me in," Derek replied solemnly. 

Stiles tackled Derek, wrapping his arms around his neck in a vice grip and smashed his lips against Derek's. Derek wasted no time in grabbing Stiles' hips and pressing him forward so his body was a hot, sweaty weight against his. 

Stiles was all enthusiasm, moving his head this way and that to get a better angle. Derek eventually gripped Stiles' hair, tugging on it - which elicited a delicious groan Derek longed to hear again - and slowed the kiss down. He swept his tongue across Stiles' bottom lip slowly, a suggestion and a plea, and Stiles quickly acquiesced. 

Derek rubbed his tongue against Stiles', echoing the movement with deliberate circles on his hip, reach under to stroke the warm skin underneath. Stiles squirmed into the touch, tugging at Derek's hair and moaning appreciatively. Derek grumbled in like, pulling his mouth off Stiles' to bite down his jaw, sucking at his neck and biting it to pull small gasps from Stiles' mouth. 

"Get off, get off," Stiles gasped, pushing at Derek. Derek stilled immediately, ready to put distance between himself and Stiles so he could collect himself before he was forced to leave, but Stiles rolled his hips down, forcing a groan from Derek. 

"You aren't going anywhere," Stiles hissed, his voice husky. His bee-stung lips and blown eyes entranced Derek, making him want to throw Stiles in his nest and fuck the sickness right out of him. Stiles ripped off his shirt, throwing it over his head and plastering himself back on Derek, biting his earlobe and pulling on it. 

"Too hot," Stiles gasped in his ear. "Take it off." Derek wasted no time in pulling his shirt off and lowering Stiles on the couch. 

"Stiles," Derek groaned, licking at his unbelievable collar bone. 

"Shit, man," Stiles said, running his hands all over Derek's chest, raking his fingernails along his abs and watching them contract with a heated fascination. 

Their lips met again with an overwhelming heat, lips and teeth and tongue working together to create orchestrated explosions. Derek created bruising patterns from Stiles' broad shoulders to his hips, his mouth following the same trail. Stiles was completely pliant under his touch, not ashamed to beg for more. Derek's wolf growled its pleasure at the submission, hungrily taking as much as Stiles was giving. 

Stiles groaned again, this time a more pained sound. Derek backed off, his hands cupping Stiles's face. "What's wrong?" he asked, trying to get his breath back. 

"It's just - so hot," Stiles sighed. Derek thought he was talking about what they were doing, but Stiles was sweating profusely, his entire body flushed a deep red. Derek put his hand against Stiles' forehead, and was concerned at how heated it felt. 

"You're probably sweating out your fever," Derek murmured, using his discarded shirt to wipe at Stiles' face. 

"But I did that yesterday," Stiles whined.

"Body's probably getting the last of it out, then," Derek surmised. "And you doing all this heavy activity probably kick started it." He continued wiping his shirt along Stiles' face, dragging it down to his chest. It worried Derek how much sweat he was collecting on the shirt. 

"Being sick is the worst," Stiles groaned, leaning into Derek's touch before batting him away, saying, "You're too hot." 

"Stiles, now isn't the time," Derek joked, moving himself off Stiles' body and pulling at the blankets. 

"Noooo, keep the blankets," Stiles said, pulling at the blanket Derek held in his hand. 

"What, and have you get a heat stroke? Not happening." Derek yanked back, hardly exerting any strength to get the blanket in his hold completely. Stiles pouted, crossing his arms over his naked chest. A chest Derek was trying very hard to overlook. 

"What am I supposed to wallow in now?" Stiles asked. "Because sexual frustration is not going to cut it."

"You're smart," Derek said, messily folding up the blankets and moving them to an empty chair. "You'll think of something." 

"You have too much faith in me!" Stiles called after Derek when he went to the kitchen to wet some towels for Stiles. 

"It's because you're easy for me!" Derek called back, wetting the towels and smiling when he heard Stiles spluttering in the other room. 

When Derek walked back into the room, Stiles was fanning himself with a piece of paper. Once he noticed Derek was standing at the doorway, he balled up the paper and threw it at Derek. Derek didn't even have to duck to evade it, its flight cut pathetically short. "Fuck you," Stiles said, smiling lightly despite his flaming face. 

"In time," Derek replied lightly, inhaling deeply when the sharp, teasing scent of arousal cut through Stiles' sick stench. He laid the wet towels on Stiles' forehead and chest, Stiles sighing happily as the coolness combat his heated body.

"Feels good," Stiles sighed. Derek hummed, running his fingers through Stiles' sex - or heavy foreplay - hair. 

"You gotta appreciate the fact that I could still get it up for you even though I feel like crap," Stiles said, a smarmy grin on his face. 

"I'm sure it'll pay off in the future," Derek replied, tugging at Stiles' hair. 

"Throw me the remote, will you?" Stiles said after several moments of comfortable silence passed. Derek passed him the remote, and Stiles turned on the TV. He let out a triumphant cry when Shrek started playing. 

"How is this still on?" Derek groaned. 

"Shrek isn't a movie, it's a state of mind."

"Stiles," Derek huffed, "shut up." 

Stiles did the exact opposite, discussing different ways Donkey and the dragon could have had sex and produced their children. When Stiles asked if Derek had ever eaten an ass before, a devious look in his face, Derek leaned in close until their noses were inches apart and breathed, "Guess you'll just have to find out."

He leaned back, trying to contain his smirk as Stiles gaped at him.

When Stiles did tackle him, Derek wondered if he was doomed forever to think of Shrek and the smell of human illness in a positive light. But when a line from Shrek had Stiles choking a laugh against Derek's lips, Derek had to admit that it could be a lot worse.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find more information about Dr. Strangelove Syndrome here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alien_hand_syndrome
> 
> Also, come play with me on tumblr! I mostly just cry about my fandoms. You can find me as fattomatoberries


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